


Timeline

by Azrael



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Because It's About Damn Time!!!, Celebration of the American Supreme Court's Decision On Legalizing Gay Marriage, Johnlock Roulette, Kidlock, M/M, Mild Angst, Non-Explicit Sex, Pining, Romance, Same-Sex Marriage, Teenlock, Unilock, major fluff, really very epic pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azrael/pseuds/Azrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt on the lovely Mssmithlove's Tumblr by an Anonymous asker.  (If it was you, please drop me a line and I'll credit you by name.)</p><p>The Holmes and Watson families are close friends.  When John is three, Sherlock is born.  Sherlock is a fractious child, but when he gets a first look at John he immediately stops crying.  What follows is an epic friendship that could turn into more if only they could get their acts together.  Featuring Pining!Sherlock and Oblivious!John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timeline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mssmithlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mssmithlove/gifts), [Kaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaya/gifts).



> I'm on a writing binge at the moment and I saw this prompt and immediately had to claim it for my own. It's wonderful, absolutely adorable and can be found on Mssmithlove's Tumblr. (Just go to her amazing series Happiness Awaits, she has a link right there. Oh you haven't read it? Go. Read. I'll wait.) Hey you're back! AWESOME! On with the johnlock then. Enjoy!
> 
> A/N: The original prompter saw this and got back to me! SQEEEEEEE!!!!

_Set clock: February 8, 1976 00:00:00…._

John’s chubby yet deft little three year old fingers pulled again at the hateful tie knotted around his neck. He’d almost gotten it undone when his mum, wearing her nicest shape-hugging dress and a demure coral lipstick, caught sight of him in the rear view mirror.

“Jonathan Hamish Watson, you leave that alone or there’ll be no dessert for you for the rest of the week!”

John immediately tightened the nasty piece of silk back to his throat and crossed his arms sulkily. When his mum’s Scottish burr began to roll through her R’s it was definitely time to toe the line. Unfair.

Just then they turned into the winding, tree lined drive that wound a full quarter mile to the circular turn around in front of Morningside, the ancestral seat of the distinguished Holmes family and home to his mum’s best friend Violet. Aunt Vi had been tired and her normally toned figure had been lushly rounded at her belly the last time John had seen her a month ago. He’d found it fascinating and had giggled in delight when Violet had placed his small hand on the side of the enormous bump and he had felt the bulge of little feet kicking to get out.

Now, Aunt Vi was a new mother for the second time after a grueling seven years of trying to give her first child, a snooty big boy called Mycroft that John didn’t like at all, a younger sibling. She had given birth to another baby boy with just as long a name as Mycroft’s, but the only one John could remember was ‘Sherlock’ cause it was so different. He had taken to calling the baby by that one every day when he eagerly asked after him. Emma Watson had been so charmed that she had followed his lead and then told Violet about it over the phone. Aunt Vi had also been amused and now the newest scion of the Holmes family was known as nothing else.

(Mycroft was apparently quite pleased, as William Sherlock Scott had far greater potential for a more common name than Mycroft Reginald Siger did and he was tired of being the only one at school who was teased about it. John tried not to feel disgruntled about having a part in that, as Mum wouldn’t like him being spiteful.)

Now, a whole month after Sherlock’s birth, the Watsons were _finally_ going to be allowed to meet the little one on the coldest night in February that Sussex had seen in a decade. Unfortunately, John’s mum had decided it was a very special occasion and not only dressed up herself, but allowed Harry to wear her favorite party dress and then stuffed the much more reluctant John into his adorable brown suit, blue shirt, and the hated stripey tie.

John’s dad put their silver Audi in park and climbed out, his navy sport coat and tan slacks looking very smart. John hoped his dad wouldn’t drink the yucky smelling drink he liked so much and get silly and kind of mean the way he sometimes did at home. Mum would be embarrassed and unhappy about it and there’d be a fight for sure.

Dad opened his door and unbuckled him from his car seat while Mum gave the six year old Harry a similar hand with her booster. John climbed out and made a beeline for the massive front door of the big house while Mum scolded Harry to put away her coloring book and Dad chuckled and chased after his small son, catching his hand and slowing him to a more sedate pace. Morris, the Holmes’ stately butler and a rather severe man of about 40 who had a soft spot for the Watson children, fought back a smile at the little blond cherub who grinned up at him and lisped a greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Morris!”

“Good evening young Master Watson. Please go ahead and Mrs. Taggert will take your coat.”

Tom Watson nodded at Morris, who inclined his head slightly in greeting, being rather less fond of the Watson father than he was of the son. The man was somewhat of a boor with a bit of a cruel streak and a tendency to overindulge. He was not a favored guest at Morningside, Lady Violet and the Earl not enamored of Mrs. Watson’s husband either. Morris’ reception was much less chilly for the Watson ladies bringing up the rear as they both greeted him warmly, Harry smiling a gap toothed grin.

The family was smoothly divested of their outerwear and ushered into the receiving parlor, the Homes’ staff as flawlessly efficient as always. All four of them winced.

It was obvious that Sherlock was blessed with a very healthy set of lungs. The infant was screaming, his eyes squinched shut as Aunt Vi tried desperately to quell his wailing by rocking him in her arms and Mycroft hovered anxiously at her elbow. Siger stepped forward to shake Tom’s hand and kiss Emma’s cheek before ruffling both Watson children’s hair. Emma gave him a sympathetic look while Tom headed for the liquor cabinet and Harry put her hands over her ears.

“Oh dear, he’s a bit colicky is he?”

Siger sighed.

“We have no idea. He’s just eaten, his nappy is dry, and he woke up right before his meal. He simply seems to be perpetually unhappy with this new world he finds himself in. Thank goodness for nannies or I doubt Violet or I would be at all able to function. Mycroft was never like this as a baby. It’s a bit shocking.”

Emma smiled warmly.

“Well, he can’t keep it up forever. He’ll settle eventually. You’ll see.”

(Emma was, of course, woefully mistaken, but they all had no way of knowing that at that point.)

Suddenly, she felt a gentle tug at the hem of her dress and looked down to see big blue eyes gazing up at her from a tilted up, round cheeked face.

“Mummy, can I meet Sherlock now? Maybe he just wants a hug?”

Emma laughed and teared up slightly at her precious, kind hearted child.

“Of course, darling, let’s go introduce ourselves, shall we?”

A sturdy little hand crept into her own smooth and perfumed palm and the two of them stepped forward as Siger looked on with a smile. Violet looked up and gave them a cheerful grin despite the tired lines around her eyes. Mycroft continued to look at his baby brother and fret.

John shyly crept up and peeked at the scrunched up and red face. He crowded close to Aunt Vi’s side and tipped his head close to the baby’s mop of wispy dark curls.

“Hello Sherlock. I’m John.”

To the whole room’s astonishment, the unhappy baby immediately stopped screaming and blinked wet eyes at this new person. He stared up at the blurry face above him and cooed a happy little chirp that the Holmes family had never heard before. Siger and Violet beamed delightedly. Mycroft scowled in jealousy.

John grinned down at his new friend, marveling at the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. Little Sherlock had eyes the color of the dark part of the sky right after the sun went down, but there were lines of almost silver blue radiating out from his wide pupils and John thought they looked like lightning. He then looked up at Aunt Vi and asked pleadingly.

“Can I hold him a little while? I’ll be really careful. I promise!”

Mycroft sneered.

“No! You’re too little. You’ll drop him.”

“I will not!”

“Will!”

“Won’t!”

Aunt Vi interrupted the squabble while Sherlock’s arms waved up towards John.

“Now boys, you’ll stop this nonsense immediately. John, come up here and sit with your back in the corner of the sofa. We’ll put a pillow in your lap and you can hold the baby and rest your arms on it. Be very careful to hold his head because he’s not strong enough to do it himself yet. Mycroft, John will be very careful and I’ll be right here. Your brother will be fine, love, I promise.”

Mycroft nodded his head reluctantly and John clambered up on the sofa to follow instructions. Then Mum stepped forward and arranged his arms in a cradle shape and Aunt Vi gently lowered her new son into John’s supported arms. The two boys stared into each other’s eyes solemnly. Then Sherlock’s legs kicked and he cooed happily again, making John smile brightly and giggle.

“We’re going to be really good friends. You’re too little to know yet, but I promise when you’re bigger we’ll have so much fun!”

Violet and Emma teared up at the touching scene then looked at each other and silently vowed that they’d never let that promise turn into a lie.

They really needn’t have worried.

////////////

_Four years later…._

Sherlock was excited. He was finally going to be in primary school with the big kids. Nobody could call him a baby anymore and Mummy would _have_ to let him get a puppy now. Plus, the best part was that he would get to go to school with John, Aunt Emma finally agreeing to let Jameson drive them both now that they were going to the same place.

Mummy took lots of pictures and then buckled him into his car seat in the big black car with the winged lady flying on the front of it. Mycroft clambered in with a kiss and an admonishment to look after his little brother, his book satchel bumping his pudgy knees. Once Mummy had buckled Sherlock in and closed the door, Mycroft reached out and tugged a little on the belt against Sherlock’s chest, making sure it was secure. Sherlock scrunched his nose at his big brother.

“Mycroft! I’m big now! Stop doing that!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“No matter how big you get, I’ll always be bigger little brother, so I’m in charge.”

(Mycroft would always believe this was true. Sherlock would always believe he was a pompous ass, but at four he didn’t know those words yet. The sentiment was definitely there though.)

Fifteen minutes later they rolled up to the Watson’s much more modest house. John’s mum and dad had divorced the year before, shocking absolutely no one at all. Sherlock had never liked Uncle Tom and was glad Aunt Emma was the only one he had to see now. John was mostly relieved too, but he felt guilty about it. Sherlock thought that was stupid, but it was John so he didn’t say anything for once.

John and Harry were waiting on the stoop with their book bags while Aunt Emma stood on the top step holding a steaming cup of tea. The two blonds kissed their mum goodbye and ran to the waiting Rolls Royce and climbed in. They squeezed their skinny bodies between the two Holmes boys, Harry already chattering away to Mycroft who was only a year older and John squished up against Sherlock’s seat and smiling excitedly at the smaller boy. His two front teeth were missing, the new left incisor just beginning to break through the pink gums. Sherlock thought he was beautiful.

They talked about their favorite cartoons for a bit. Sherlock favored Daffy Duck while John was a die-hard Bugs fan and they debated the point all the way to the schoolyard. Up front, Jameson’s shoulders shook with carefully silent laughter at the high pitched chatter in the back seat.

Ten minutes later, the shiny car slid to a stop in front of the school gates and Jameson came around to Sherlock’s side of the car to lift him out to where John was waiting to clasp his hand and bring him to his classroom. Sherlock looked up to the bigger boy, grinned excitedly and stepped forward.

Three hours later he was far less excited. He’d innocently asked Timmy Cooper if his mother was still taking her pain medications since Timmy’s shirt was buttoned wrong and he was missing his lunch bag. Timmy had yelled at him to shut up, burst into tears, and pushed Sherlock painfully onto the story time rug. The teacher, Miss Turner, had rushed over and scolded both of them, to which Sherlock had angrily insisted he was just telling the truth, which had earned him a naughty check on his behavior chart.

(It was to be the first of many naughty checks, time outs, and eventual detentions and demerits that Sherlock would receive in his school career. He very quickly ceased to care and even began to view his records with a sense of pride.)

Finally it was time for lunch and then recess. He had to sit at his class table for lunch, but John waved at him from his own class table and Sherlock waved enthusiastically back. He nibbled at his apple, ignored his sandwich, gobbled all his biscuits and slurped down his juice box. Then it was finally time to go outside and he made straight for the bright blond head smiling at him from the four square court. John was there with his other big friends Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, and Billy Murray, but the other three boys greeted Sherlock enthusiastically, well used to John’s second shadow by now. Greg waved with the hand not holding a big red rubber ball.

“Hiya Squirt. Wanna play turns with us? You can step in when one of us gets knocked out. We can play forever that way!”

Mike frowned.

“Isn’t recess only twenty minutes?”

Greg’s face fell.

“Oh yeah. Well, let’s get started!”

Sherlock moved over to lean against the brick wall of the school to wait his turn. He was about ten feet away from the others and so must have looked alone and vulnerable to Timmy and his nasty friends Phillip Anderson and Andy Dimmock. Timmy stomped up to him and shoved him though Sherlock was able to keep his feet this time.

“You’re a jerk! We don’t like you!”

Sherlock felt a lump in his chest and a stinging in his eyes. Then all four boys jumped as a strong voice interrupted them.

“Oi! Leave him alone! He’s playing with us and you midgets can just go play on the baby things.”

John was scowling at the trio of bullies, hands on his hips and Greg, Mike and Billy ranged behind him with similarly thunderous faces. Timmy, Phillip, and Andy squeaked and ran away.

Sherlock knew that the other boys could still be mean to him in the classroom, but at least he’d get a break before and after school and during recess. John was wonderful and that would be enough.

(It wouldn’t, and Sherlock would learn to fight back with both fists and tongue until the other kids left him alone. It was preferable, but, well, lonely.)

John smiled down at the dark haired boy and then went back to the game, knocking out Mike and beckoning Sherlock to join in. Sherlock smiled until the whistle sounded to end recess and then went inside to wait for school to end when he could see John again.

///////////

_Five years later…._

Sherlock slammed into his room, thankful Mycroft was at debate team, Mummy at the university, and Dad at his office. The staff knew better than to bother him right away when he was this upset. In an hour, Mrs. Taggert, the housekeeper, would bring him a plate of biscuits and a cup of milky tea, but until then Sherlock could be alone.

He threw himself onto his bed where Redbeard was wagging his tail and Sherlock curled into the warm silky fur and let the tears come.

Sherlock had managed to skip three grades as his genius intellect became apparent and now was in John’s class. Both boys were very excited about it, and it had been wonderful to sit next to John everyday and whisper with him, Greg, Mike, and Bill. The other kids left him alone when it became apparent he was going to be one of the popular boys if John Watson favored him. After years of torment, it was certainly a relief to be with his friends.

But today disaster had struck.

John had a girlfriend.

Her name was Sarah Sawyer and she was dull, dull, dull, but she was admittedly very pretty and popular and it was quite a feather in John’s cap to be seen holding her hand in the halls. It was a dagger to Sherlock’s heart to see his beautiful John so close with someone else and he hated Sarah from afar. Greg, Mike, and Bill noticed his jealousy, but said nothing. John was oblivious as always.

Sherlock’s tears finally ran out and he rolled to his back, absently petting Redbeard’s soft head where it lay on his stomach. Maybe it would be okay. Sherlock had seen these little dalliances before, though never with John as a participant. They never seemed to last long.

(This would prove to be true for the next several affairs John had, though Sherlock was always anxious until the latest vapid twit drifted into memory. This pattern would repeat until year 11, when John started dating Mary Morstan and then _stayed_ with her for two whole years until they all went to different universities and she went to America for school. Sherlock’s heart wouldn’t completely recover for several years after.)

A discreet tap came from the door and Sherlock wearily sighed and rolled off the bed to answer it, Redbeard jumping down to pad happily after his master. Mrs. Taggert was of course on the other side holding a plate of raspberry filled biscuits and the expectrdd cup of tea. She smiled sympathetically when he murmured a quiet thank you and he turned away to close the door again while balancing her offering in one arm.

He sat at his desk and bit into a biscuit, absently passing one down to a begging Redbeard. Sarah was a problem, and problems have solutions. He drummed his fingers while he chewed, thinking hard. A plan began to form. John would be upset with him for a bit, but that was a small price to pay to get Sarah to stop sitting at their table at lunch.

He nodded to himself. Yes, it was sound.

Two weeks later Sarah was gone and John had forgiven Sherlock for deducing Sarah’s other crush when he saw her walking home with Jason Whittier. Sherlock sighed in relief, not knowing his reprieve would be brief. Greg, Mike, and Bill shook their heads, but held their tongues.

////////////

_Six years later…._

John looked around his side of the room and grinned in satisfaction. Yes, he was all unpacked and Sherlock’s side of the room was mostly in order, his desk the only spot of experimental chaos in the otherwise spotless room. His fifteen year old genius roommate was lying on his bed in his favorite position; hands steepled under his chin and his eyes on the ceiling, completely motionless. John smiled fondly at his best friend. Uni was going to be great! He was going to be pre-med and Sherlock was reading chemistry, the two of them were going to take London and St. Bart’s by storm!

He crossed over to Sherlock’s side of the room and bounced down next to his outstretched legs. Sherlock jolted and then glared at him in annoyance. John beamed unrepentantly.

“Come on, lazy, let’s go explore! Mike and Greg should be around here somewhere, and this place is swimming in hot girls and boys. Even your picky self should be able to find someone to crush on.”

For some reason, Sherlock’s face blanked into his I-have-emotions-but-am-endeavoring-to-hide-them expression, but John was too hyper to really notice. He stood up and reached down to heave up his much taller friend and hustle him out the door despite the dark haired boy’s put upon sighs. This was going to be epic!

/////////////

_Three months later…._

John was fuming. He was furious. He was completely fucked up. He had an excellent reason.

His reason had a name: Victor Trevor.

Sherlock had met the wanker in his compulsory literature class and the two had bonded over being the youngest students in the whole class, Victor also being advanced and only sixteen years old. At first John had been pleased and a little attracted, having long come to terms with his own bisexuality. Victor was handsome, charming, and witty. He came from the kind of money that Sherlock did, though his family wasn’t titled. In short, he was lovely and he was obviously fascinated with Sherlock and happy to be friendly with John and the others.

Over the subsequent weeks, John had become steadily less enthusiastic as it became obvious that Sherlock and Victor were heading towards a romance. John was panicking a bit, because this was Uni and the secondary school kids’ stuff had been left behind. People often met their future _spouses_ at Uni after all and there was no way John could stand up and watch Sherlock pledge himself to someone else.

Because over the last three months John had had an epiphany; he was totally, completely, irrevocably in love with Sherlock, and even at eighteen he knew that it would be for life.

Today, John had seen his world shatter. He’d gotten back to the room, his arms juggling a stack of library books he needed for his world history class, and he’d failed to notice the leather bracelet hung around the doorknob in a clear indication not to come in. John himself had come up with the system. But he hadn’t seen it and so he’d walked into a horror show.

Sherlock was reclined against his pillows, his shirt partially unbuttoned and Victor leaning over him.

They were snogging furiously and John felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as two pairs of startled eyes looked up at him. He slammed his eyes closed, grit his teeth and fisted his hands at his sides, then turned on his heel and stumbled out the door, his dropped library books left in a careless pile on the floor. He left so quickly that he missed the narrowed eyes of a deducing Sherlock suddenly widen in surprise, elation and then terror.

“John, wait!!”

But John was already gone.

………….

Sherlock pushed Victor off of him so violently that the other boy landed on the floor with a thump.

“What the bloody fuck, Sherlock?!”

Sherlock rolled to his feet and clenched his fingers in his hair.

“Shut up, shut up, I’m thinking!”

Victor looked at him with disbelief and Sherlock rolled his eyes before hauling the bewildered boy off the floor and unceremoniously shoving him through the door.

“Yes, lovely experiment! Thank you for your help! Go away now!”

He then slammed the door in Victor’s shocked face and ignored the subsequent kick and shouted insult. He began pacing feverishly.

John had been upset. No. John had been _in pain._

Why, why, why?!

Sherlock tried to crush the seed of treacherous hope taking root behind his breastbone. No! He couldn’t be foolish with this. He’d loved John his entire life, the story of their first meeting when he was only a month old having long passed into both families’ legends. He’d finally come to terms with John’s sexuality yet obvious lack of attraction for him, attempting to turn over a new leaf with Victor. He’d tried to stop the daydreams of John and him together and happy, John smiling at him with desire instead of friendship, John standing at an altar in a tuxedo and Sherlock’s ring around his finger. He’d had less success with his nighttime dreams, still being plagued by the frequent and well remembered images of John above and moving in him.

John wasn’t his and never would be…

Right?

But John had walked in on him getting his very first kiss from Victor _(not John, not John, not John)_ and then looked like someone had punched him very hard in his solar plexus. Then he’d left, practically running in his haste. What did that mean?

Sherlock had to find John right now, and he knew exactly where he’d be.

Sherlock grabbed his long coat and then doubled back for John’s shooting jacket and rushed up to the roof. Sure enough, John was sitting on a deck chair, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his fingers in his hair. His shoulders were shaking slightly and Sherlock felt his heart twist.

He rushed forward and fell to his knees in front of John, startling the other boy into looking up with reddened eyes and tear tracks on his face. Sherlock opened his mouth to ask his question.

“I love you.”

Sherlock froze and John’s jaw dropped.

“What?!”

Sherlock stammered briefly before closing his mouth and narrowing his eyes. He threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Oh come on! This cannot be news to you, you cannot be this oblivious! I have loved you almost since the day I was born if our mothers are to be believed! I worked myself to the bone to catch up with you in school. I came to the same university as you despite being accepted into the honors program at Cambridge. We live together for God’s sake!!!”

John gaped like a fish and Sherlock despaired that he found even that expression charming and adorable. Then John looked away and Sherlock’s stomach did another sickening elevator swoop.

“Sherlock…. Don’t okay, I know I’m not…I’m not like you and Victor alright? I’m not brilliant or beautiful or anything. I’m never going to change the world, I’m just going to be another doctor. I get it, so just…just go and be with Victor. I’ll go bunk with Greg and Mike tonight.”

Sherlock shook his head violently and then reached out and shook John for good measure. John looked at him in shock.

“No! No, listen to me! You have to _listen._ There is only you! There has only ever been and only ever will be _you!_ Please, if there’s any chance you can give me then _tell me_ or tell me to go. One or the other John, but I need you to choose right now because I can’t do this anymore! It’s been fifteen years of this, this pathetic _pining._ You need to either promise me or break my heart and then let me move on. So bloody well CHOOSE!!!”

John looked at him with wide eyes and Sherlock looked back desperately, his eyes flicking between John’s trying to read, to deduce his answer and completely unable to.

Then everything about John softened and Sherlock could have sobbed in relief.

“I choose you Sherlock. I love you too. I also always have and always will. It just took me longer to catch up to your genius brain.”

Sherlock sagged in complete and utter relief and leaned down to rest his head on John’s left knee, suddenly dizzy with the release of a decade and a half of tension. John loved him, John had promised, John was his.

He looked up.

“Will you kiss me now, please?”

John smiled and reached out with his hand to cup Sherlock’s chilled cheek.

“No.”

Sherlock reeled back, and John reached out again, preventing him from bolting.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, you don’t understand! I want to, God, you have no idea how much I want to, but the truth is you are fifteen. I’m eighteen. When I kiss you I’m not going to be able to stop and we can’t do that. It would be wrong and if we were caught it could be really, really bad. I could go to prison for rape, Sherlock. I’d never be a doctor, you’d never have a normal life, and we’d be apart for _years._ We have to wait, love. We have to.”

Sherlock ground his teeth and wanted to scream, but John was right. He was too young in the eyes of the law and John’s future was too precious to risk. John had wanted to be a doctor since he was ten years old. Sherlock wouldn’t jeopardize his chances at his dream for sex. He had waited fifteen years, he could wait less than three more.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t cheat a little.

He leaned forward and blew a thin stream of air across John’s lips and then tilted his forehead against the other boy’s and relished John’s sharp intake of breath.

Ok, ok, we’ll wait.”

John smiled and blew a promise of a kiss across Sherlock’s philtrum as well.

“Thank you.”

/////////////

_Two years, two months, three weeks, two days, ten hours, and twenty seven minutes later…._

Sherlock ran up the three flights of stairs to their hall as if the very hounds of hell were on his tail. It was over, the horrible, awful, _so bloody long,_ birthday day with his family was over and now he could finally see John. He ran down the hall and halted in front of their door. He took a deep breath, clenched his hands in his pockets before removing one and turning the knob.

He stepped through and called out softly.

“John?”

His still secret boyfriend stepped out from the loo and into the sitting area. He smiled and walked forward.

“Hi, love, have a good time?”

Sherlock looked at him hungrily and didn’t blink or answer. John chuffed a laugh.

“I suppose not then, your brother _is_ a complete git after all. He reached forward and caught Sherlock’s free hand to tug him into the tiny kitchenette area. He lit the single candle in the red velvet cupcake sitting there and turned with a smile and anticipation in his eyes.

“Happy birthday, Sherlock, are you ready for your present?”

John started to reach for him and Sherlock planted his free hand on the broad chest.

John stumbled back, stricken and lost looking and Sherlock immediately rushed forward to grab him before he fell.

“I mean; no, not now. Just, one…I just…”

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair and looked up.

“I have a question first and then an explanation.”

John tilted his head, but his features cleared and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Then he blurted his question out like a fool.

“Will you marry me?”

John’s eyes widened and then he smiled like the sun.

“Yes! God, yes, Sherlock ,of course!”

He leaned forward again and again Sherlock stopped him. John’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement and Sherlock rushed to explain.

“I want to wait just a little more. I know it’s been eighteen years, but I want, I need, you to be mine first; completely totally mine. Do you understand?”

Sherlock hoped he did because there was no way to adequately explain it. If John was his husband then he couldn’t leave, or at least not without a whole lot of difficulty and red tape and a chance for Sherlock to get him back. If Sherlock kissed him, got a taste of him, and it fell apart he’d die. He wouldn’t be able to ever go back and he’d just curl up and fade away, he knew it. But John was smiling softly at him and cupped his face just like he always did in the one intimate touch he had allowed himself since that night on the rooftop.

“I do, love, and I’m fine with that. In fact, it sounds perfect. We’re going to have to elope though because there’s no way I can wait through the planning of an entire wedding.”

Sherlock grinned and shook his head.

“Oh no, there will be a wedding. Mummy planned it months ago. Our wedding day is tomorrow. The email invitation went out an hour ago. Everyone has RSVP’d who matters and the ones that don’t can regret it later.”

John threw back his head and laughed. Sherlock finally pulled his hand from his pocket, clutching a blue velvet box housing two black titanium wedding bands with discreet black, princess cut diamonds set in the centers. They were sized already and John gazed down on them with obvious delight and avarice.

“Well alright then, I guess I can wait one more night.”

Then he leaned forward and Sherlock closed his eyes as John blew across his lips. He blew his own promise back and smiled.

/////////////

_Twenty hours later…._

The ceremony had been beautiful, every detail perfectly executed by Morningside’s staff under the direction of an almost smiling Morris. Emma and Violet had clutched each other’s hands and cried shamelessly while Mycroft rolled his eyes and Harry smirked at him with her arm around her new wife Clara’s shoulders. Siger smiled gently but with great pride at Violet’s side and manfully hid his trembling lips and ignored his misty eyes. Tom Watson was not in attendance, having not received an invitation anyway.

Sherlock and John had made their vows, exchanged their rings, but when the reverend granted his permission for them to kiss, they simply leaned toward each other and took turns gently blowing puffs of air across the other’s lips. It confused the congregation, but the grooms looked so happy that there was a collective shrug and then everybody moved on.

Now, after the speeches, toasts, cake, and dancing were finally behind them, the pair found themselves alone in Sherlock’s old room at Morningside, staring at each other from opposite sides of the Persian rug. They would never know which of them moved first, but they suddenly found themselves crushed together down the lengths of their bodies, John’s arms tight around Sherlock’s waist and Sherlock’s hands clasping John’s jaw as their foreheads met and they just stood breathing each other’s air. Then Sherlock began to speak.

“John, my John, I love you, I love you. You keep me right, you keep me centered, you clear my mind and make everything go blessedly still and quiet. Without you the world is too bright, too cruel, too _much._ You are everything to me, and I would be bitter, cold, and horribly alone without you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

John let out a tiny moan.

“Sherlock, I love you too, so much, you have no idea. I love your brilliance and your dark wit and your bloody gorgeous mind. You shine like diamonds, like the sun, and you make everything brighter, more interesting, more _real._ I love you, and now, please, please, let me kiss you, let me show you how much.”

Sherlock took in a shaky breath.

_“Yes”_

Their mouths met, finally joining, the taste of each other exploding in their senses, imprinting on their brains and instantly addicting both of them to the feel of each other’s lips and tongues, heat and breath. They kissed, languid and then frantic and then frenzied as tailored wedding suits were tugged at and discarded. They pushed and pulled each other to the bed, a dance just for them and neither missed a step. Then they were falling down among clouds of sheets, entwined and straining to get close, close, closer. They kissed and ground against each other, reveling in the feel of sweat slick skin and hard flesh. Sherlock begged and John kissed him quiet, then reached for the lube and opened him with such care and tenderness that Sherlock couldn’t help but undulate and keen. When John finally moved up and slid home, Sherlock couldn’t keep the tears at bay anymore. At last he had everything he’d ever wanted and the last piece of his heart slipped back into place and he breathed a sigh of complete relief as the last niggling anxieties just melted away.

They loved slowly all night, coming together again and again, barely sleeping, sometimes whispering confessions and sometimes merely gazing at each other as if hardly daring to believe they’d gotten here at last.

When the grey light of pre-dawn changed to the pink light of daybreak, the first weak rays of sunlight crept in around the drapes and moved stealthily up the side of the bed, growing brighter and more golden as it travelled. When it had gone as far as it could, it found that it had bathed the tangled, sleeping couple wrapped together under nothing but a damp top sheet and sparkled in the diamond centers of the matching rings on mismatched fingers.

_Reset clock, January 8, 1994 00:00:00…._

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit my new Tumblr! My name there is SeraphAzrael. I follow back too!


End file.
